


Send Nudes

by little_ogre



Series: Send Nudes [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Freeform, Getting Together, M/M, Masturbation, One Shot, PWP, but not enough plot to be an actual story either, not beta read we die like men, not enough sex to be PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 01:31:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_ogre/pseuds/little_ogre
Summary: Billy was sifting through the debris one morning, considering just caving and bringing the cups down, ending whatever Mexican standoff Goody was having with the landlady, when he came upon an envelope with photographs. They were very different from the childhood pictures, printed on stiff cardstock. The images were darker and somewhat grainy, and while Goody was young in the pictures he was certainly not a child, no, he was a young man and he was devastatingly handsome.Wherein Billy comes upon the photographic evidence of Goodnight's youthful indiscretions.





	Send Nudes

 

 

 

“Home, sweet home,” Goody said and kicked the door closed.

 

It was an exaggeration, even in the best light. Volcano Springs was more like a loose base of operations, where they would stay a month or two a year if they were in the vicinity and the weather grew intolerable. This time summer had grown too hot, and spending some time indoors, in the relative comfort of a town, or at least a bar, had won out. “Besides you can fleece rubes as well there as out on the trail, and the rotgut won’t make you blind,” Goody had said when they turned their horses in that direction.

 

It felt almost like home though, getting the same rooms, rented by a Susannah Miller who knew the two of them pretty well by now. Two upstairs bedrooms joined by a parlor, with the lodging house underneath it.

 

A scrappy little boy brought up their mail from the post office when they had settled in. Whenever they were on the trail Goody would direct his mail to Volcano Springs, knowing he’d be around once or twice a year. It made him an unreliable correspondent but since he was unreliable in pretty much every other aspect he said it wasn’t much of a loss (Billy suspected that the Louisiana lawyer who had been chasing him the last three years  about his father’s estate would beg to differ but he kept that to himself). This time he had a huge bag, several thick envelopes and a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Billy seldom received anything (except one very memorable time, a truly exceptionally, filthy letter written anonymously in a delicate hand on scented paper. Goody occasionally jibed him about his “lady friend” but Billy had honestly no idea where it might have come from, for all he knew it could be some miner with a penchant for Habanita and some very specific tastes).

 

Goody threw one look at the handwriting of the parcel and gave a sigh, before pushing it away.

 

“From the old homestead,” he said sourly. Letters from home usually left him in a foul mood but a week later when Billy came up to their room he had opened the parcel and spread its content on the table, looking quite happy about it.

“My sister, bless her, is redecorating and found some of my old things in the attic. She sent some of them here, as if I would want them. I guess I can put them in the box room.”

 

The box room above the lodging house where Mrs Miller graciously allowed Goody to stow some of the things he couldn't carry on the road, mostly books and a winter coat or two.

 

Billy looked idly at the contents, some drawings and poems in a childish, scrawly hand, a silver cup and, tucked under a sheet of paper, a small, stuffed toy. It was a soft bear with a hangdog expression and a chewed up ear. He held it up wordlessly and enjoyed Goody’s blush.

 

“That is Sargent Commander Thaddeus and I'll have you know he was an instrumental leader of the toy soldier army.”

“What happened to his ear?” Billy asked, scratching the offending article.

“I might have chewed it off, Goody said blush deepening. “I was only two.”

 

There were photos Goodnight as a child, in a small soldier’s uniform, his features barely recognizable yet still unmistakable, stiff poses with his sisters and brothers, small white faces all of them, so peculiar looking with round, pale eyes and straw hair.

“You're so white I can't even see your nose,” Billy said and Goody scoffed.

“What nose? I was an unusually unprepossessing child.”

“Unpre?”

“Unattractive. Ugly,” Goody supplied and leaned back with a self-satisfied smirk. “Don't worry though, I’m making up for it in my old age.”

Billy rolled his eyes and left him to it. He was never going to admit to once or twice thinking of Goody as handsome.

 

With characteristic absentmindedness Goody left the things strewn all over their table, where slowly a cityscape of whiskey glasses, saucers with stubbed out cigarettes and coffee mugs were built up around them. Sargent Commander Thaddeus became a fixture propped up against an empty bottle, now equipped with a tiny wooden sword. Billy was sifting through the debris one morning, considering just caving and bringing the cups down, ending whatever Mexican standoff Goody was having with the landlady, when he came upon an envelope with photographs. They were very different from the childhood pictures, printed on stiff cardstock. The images were darker and somewhat grainy, and while Goody was young in the pictures he was certainly not a child, no, he was a young man and he was devastatingly handsome.

 

Goodnight was clean-shaven, and his dark, hooded eyes were looking slightly left of the camera with a brooding intensity, his cheekbones high and sharp and his mouth, without the beard, a sensual, wicked pout. His hair was shorter and slicked back, revealing a high square forehead that seemed to hold lofty thought. It was only a slight, shrewd curl at the edge of the mouth that belied the innocence of the face, and together with the intense eyes gave it a contradictory, compelling impression.

 

The next photo was blurry; clearly Goody had moved during the process and the smile and almost bashful gesture of his head were painted in smeared lines on the photograph, giving it a soft impression. This Goody was more approachable, more like the boyish and twitchy person Billy knew, than the handsome, self-possessed creature in the previous picture, excruciatingly aware of his own beauty.

 

“Oh, don’t look at those,” Goody said and all but snatched the envelope out of Billy’s hands. “I was an unbearable young fop, milk-faced and wet behind the ears. Vain as a peacock, too, though heavens know why.”

 

Billy just looked at him wordlessly with raised eyebrows and Goody frowned, brushing a hand defensively over his dark waistcoat and well tied cravat, perfectly matched to bring out his blue eyes. Billy considered his point well made. Old or young, Goody was more than a shade vain.

“My second cousin, Jean, had this friend Doucet, who was an amateur photographer, I think he took these pictures. My God, but I was a skinny runt.” He tucked the pictures back into the envelope and placed it on the dresser but the memory kept nagging at Billy’s mind long after.

 

It rose before his eyes again in the dark when he tried to sleep, only now the twist Goody’s mouth was mocking, arrogant, the eyes dark with ownership and desire.

 

He wondered uneasily how much of that young man was still inside Goody, and how much had been ripped out by the war.

 

How much Goodnight still wanted to be like that, young and invulnerable, steeped in privilege and heartlessness. He knew that deep down, if Goody could chose to be the way he had been, he would; and Billy knew with equal certainty, selfishly, that he would never trade him, even for the price of release from the nightmares.The Goody he knew was skittish and superstitious, bombastic and ridiculous in turns, and an unrepentant opportunist and a consummate bullshitter but he was unwavering and generous in his friendship, loyal to a fault and painfully aware of having been wrong, of having reshaped his worldview from the ground up. Billy doubted very much that he and a young Goodnight would have been friends,that Goodnight would have seen anything else than a coolie or a laundry man.

 

And still, that handsome face rose in front of his eyes, a thrill running through him, his body rolling to feel it. What would he have been like, with that soft mouth hiding sharp teeth and skin unmarred by either trouble or weather? His hands soft and not worn rough by rifle and reins.

 

Billy had a hand inside his smallclothes cupping himself, nearly before he was aware of it and felt himself firm and hot, hardening eagerly against his hand. It was with a strange mixture of guilt and shame he withdrew, ashamed of himself. Goody who was his friend, strange and troubled and beautiful the way he was and not for Billy to think about, slow and secret in the night. He turned in the bed, uselessly turning over the flat pillow and tried to go back to sleep. He wondered if Goody was awake, turning restless in his bed like him, puzzling over the texture of Billy's skin or hair, the smell of his body.

 

On the trail they slept on opposite sides of the fire, and Billy used to doze with his eyes half opened, Goody’s shape a comfort and the sounds of him, the soft snoring or his cries from the nightmares easy to discern. He missed that, sleeping civilized in separate rooms and it was easy to swing his feet on to the wooden floor, and it wasn't until he was in front of Goody’s door he stopped and considered. What would he say?

 

_I was alone without you, I don't want to think about you young, it feels like red ants under my skin. It's intolerable to think that you existed so different from how you are now. Let me in, let me sleep with you._

 

He leaned his forehead against the door, feeling something like a dull ache in his body, before he sighed heavily and returned to bed.

 

The next couple of days were restless, he was constantly stealing glances at Goody, trying to reconcile his friend with the photograph, puzzle out the each line and change, how he had aged. Billy didn’t know why it upset him so much, what all this ruminating was meant to achieve. Was he upset by the loss of Goody’s beauty? The thought was preposterous, why should that affect him? (especially as if he was being honest with himself, he already found Goodnight beautiful, cracked and fragile and lovely). Did he prefer him like that, young and unspoiled? Would he want that Goody in his bed and not this one? Did he want Goodnight? How had that happened, and what would it mean for their easy friendship? He could find no answers and it worried away at him.

 

The days passed, heat so heavy the air seemed like a solid thing, shimmering and wobbling. They’d take their horses out for water early in the day and then spend the rest of the day in their underclothes, windows opened and curtains pulled for shade, smoking languidly and not reviving until evening, like snakes and lizards, permanently lazy and slow.

 

One evening, just as the cool began to settle Goody was out and Billy alone with a bottle of whiskey in their rooms, with just enough inside him to feel relaxed and loose-limbed. Goodnight was over in the saloon with a poker game which looked like it might last well into the small hours.

 

Billy enjoyed their rooms, and enjoyed being alone in them. The shared parlor had a rug and white curtains shielded from the blazing heat, and their meager possessions spread all over the space amongst the already existing bric á brac in a homelike mess, cozily entwined. He was painstakingly sewing back a button in his spare shirt, the original long gone, when the thread snapped and he had to go find the spool for more. He was rummaging around the dresser when he came upon the photographs Goody had taken away. Surely there would be no harm to look at them? In fact, wasn’t it his duty, as a friend, to make sure that there wasn’t a picture in there of Goody with large ears and an unfortunate attempt to grow sideburns? He sat down at the table with the envelope after some consideration lighting a cigarette, balancing in between two fingers to keep the falling ash away from  the paper. It was a slim bunt of photographs, maybe five or six, the thickness of the card making the stack feel deceptively thick.

 

The first picture was as startling as he remembered it, Goodnight’s face smooth and mesmerizing, he was dressed in a simple dark suit with a white shirt, the collar crisp around his neck. The second he liked better, the smear of Goody’s smile caught on paper, his hand an expressive blur. Yes, he could recognize Goody in this picture. The next one caught him entirely off guard, his mouth opening in surprise.

Goodnight was standing against the same backdrop as the first two, a hanging canvas, but he was shirtless, his chest as smooth and firm as marble, his hair messy, possibly mussed up when he took off the shirt. His expression was serious, but relaxed, again looking at something just behind the camera. The photographer Billy realized with a chill, somebody who knew Goody well, well enough for this at least. Goody’s hands were hanging empty by his sides but he didn’t look awkward, there was only a promise of burgeoning strength and assurance in the curled fingers. Turning up the next picture made Billy choke, his blood slowly lighting on fire, and coursing through his veins with blazing heat.

 

Goody was reclining, lounging like a great cat, naked on a sofa; he was on his side, the tender junction of his legs hidden, but showing off the firm muscled curves of his ass and thigh, the fine sturdy feet, a cigarette cupped in the far hand, elegantly bent by his hip. The look on his face was challenging, as if daring the photographer to look at him. As if laughing at him.

 

The fifth picture was also blurry, the only thing that could be made out was the cloud of Goody’s head, the sinuous curve of his naked shoulder and arm and the white blur of his torso. Billy was hard in his pants, eagerly pushing against the palm of his hand and this time it didn't even occur to him to withdraw. There was something almost inevitable about it. He felt languid, spreading the photos in front of him on the table, taking his good sweet time looking at them, one hand dropped to his lap stroking himself through his trousers. He hesitated for a split second before undoing them and slipped inside, taking himself in hand.

 

He closed his eyes and imagined that young Goody, his soft skin and handsome features, how his touch would be inexperienced but demanding, pretty enough to have anyone he wanted, but wanting Billy. Arrogant in that unthinking way Goody still could be, but without his good-naturedness to take the edge off it. He licked his hand, spreading the slick over his cock, pumping and twisting his fingers, moving faster and faster until the pleasure overtook him, images of Goody’s mouth and skin and strong hands plastered to the inside of his eyelids, and the phantasm of his moans ringing in his ears.

 

Coming down from it Billy could feel a thin sheen of sweat at the back of his neck, his skin prickly, little shivers and aftershocks running through him and he stretched his hands high over his head, enjoying the sensation. He wiped himself off and had tucked his cock back into his trousers, but had not buttoned them or his belt  when Goodnight came back, clattering through the door.The photographs were still spread on the table, was on his second or third perusal of the photographs, noticing all the little details he hadn’t taken in the first time around.

 

“That was some card playing,” Goody said, hanging his hat up and Billy turned lazily in the chair, trying very hard not to seem startled.

“How much did you lose?” he asked and Goody tsked.

“Ain’t got no faith in me? I’m not some young greenhorn gambling away the family fortune here.”

“How much?” Billy insisted and Goody made a face.

“A few dollars, but I gained something infinitely more precious.”

“Don’t say a good story.” Goody made a face indicating that was precisely what he had been about to say.

“Some good information about a bounty actually,” he said, a shade facetiously and then he frowned when he spotted what was on the table.

“Billy! Didn't I tell you _not_ to...oh Lord, I feel like a fool now.”

Billy looked over at him, his well-known face, the grey streaks in the beard and the furrows on his forehead, the slight glaze of alcohol over his eyes. 

“Nothing I haven't seen before, strictly speaking,” Billy pointed out, which was true.The road didn't offer much by way of privacy and sometimes when they went to the bath houses Goody would help Billy wash his hair, keeping one cigarette dry between them, and after Billy would wash his back in return. Billy’s belt and trousers were still undone but he was feeling reckless and maybe, if he didn't draw attention to it, Goody wouldn't notice. 

“Not displayed like a... a puffed-up show pony,” Goodnight said, ears red, and shuffled the images together, putting them face down on the table and Billy reached out to catch him by the sleeve.

“I..” he started and the words dried out and died, unsure of what he was going to say but Goody must have seen something in his face because a slight smile curved the edges of his mouth.

“Or maybe that's what you like?” he teased. “Young boys? I personally would have thought your tastes ran to donkeys for all the action you pick up.”

“ _Donkeys?_ C’mon, Goody,” Billy turned his face away and swatted lightly at Goody’s arm and the empty belt buckle clinked with the movement and Goody’s eyes dropped to his lap, his eyebrows raising all the way to his hairline.

“Oh, you _have_ been enjoying yourself? You quite done? I can leave you know, give you some more time alone,” he waggled his eyebrows and Billy laughed helplessly, embarrassed. Goody was warming to his theme now, coming even closer.

“That's why you wear gloves all the time, to hide your hairy hands?”

He was laughing too now, so close he was nearly in the v of Billy’s splayed legs, his crooked smile full blown and Billy felt his face and neck heat up and he was laughing like a girl being teased by her sweetheart. His heart had jumped into his throat and was now beating uncomfortably against his clavicle. 

“Screw you,” he said and slapped Goodnight’s arm again, harder this time, and Goodnight, with a terrible, _evil_ cackle plonked himself heavily into his lap.

“Now Billy, those are pictures of my fine self after all, I’d never tried to keep you from ‘em if I knew you appreciated them so much,” he grinned.

He was obviously very pleased with his own wit, and Billy realized that to Goodnight these two things were entirely unrelated, the photographs having nothing to do with surprising Billy at an intimate moment, and that right now he was only teasing him to see if he could rile him, not understanding he had been touching himself because of Goodnight, sweating and panting and wanting Goody’s hands all over him, and it was like a kick in the teeth, disappointment so sharp he could feel his throat close over.

“I do like them, but I like you better,” his mouth said, _entirely_ without permission from his brain and Goody’s smile slid straight off his face. He stared dumbstruck at Billy, and for a fraction of a second Billy felt horribly afraid. He felt under the light grip of his fingers around Goody’s sleeve everything he had to lose. His livelihood, his companion, his friend (his _love_ ) and then Goody kissed him, as hungrily and desperate as if he was trying to climb into Billy, mouth first.

 

It was ungainly and clumsy and too wet and at first Billy could only hold still under it, afraid to even move, his eyes drifting shut, trying to get every ounce of feeling out of it before it was taken away. Goody licked insistently at his mouth and the want roared through him, and once Billy caught up he couldn’t get enough, pushing up against Goody and practically chewing at his mouth. He shoved Goody up to sit on the table and then it was quick work to undo his belt and trousers, for Billy kiss his stomach, the trail of hair downward, and Goody made a shocked and delighted sound. Billy held Goody down with his forearm across his hips and bit down, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin, the other hand busy pulling his trousers down. Goody’s cock was flushed and red, already hard and jumping eagerly under his tongue. Goodnight cursed above him but Billy wasn't really interested in pulling his punches, he just wanted to get his hands on him, in him, everywhere. He was licking and sucking hard and fast, pumping his hand and making his fist wet like he liked it himself, like he _had_ done to himself only minutes earlier. Goodnight was thrown back on the table, twisting his fingers into Billy’s hair and groaning. So maybe Goodnight had decided to not take exception to Billy’s affections but in his experience something like this only happened once and then the friendship was over, both separating to better pretend it had never happened, and if this was only going to happen once, he was going to take all he could get.

 

Billy had not done this in years but apparently it wasn’t something you forgot, and it was delicious to hear Goody’s breathy moans and half-cries, like he couldn’t help himself. Like he had to cry out to bear how good it felt. Billy nuzzled at the thin, sensitive skin low on his stomach and lapped his tongue into the hollows by his hip bones. Goodnight felt warm like a furnace and Billy managed to suck him down so far he could feel him hit the back of his throat and Goodnight groaned louder and came. The taste was worse than he remembered and he spit violently on the floor, the rest of hitting his collar and shoulder and when he looked up Goody looked shaken above him. He was half lying on the table, supporting himself on his elbows, chest heaving.

“ _Goddamn,_ Billy Rocks,” he had a sort of disbelieving wonder in his voice and Billy leaned over to snag his pocket handkerchief to wipe his face and collar. “Didn’t even give me a chance to get my boots off.”

He reached out a hand for Billy to help him and Billy clasped it and pulled him up, Goody smiling delightedly and wrapped his arms around him, tight and quick as a snake.

“And there is so much more I can do with my boots off,” Goody said, eyes dark with intent, and Billy shivered. “Although not in front of  General Commander Thaddeus,” he added with a sideways glance and a delicate cough.

“I thought he was Sergeant Commander.”

“I promoted him,” Goody said tenderly, tweaking the little bear’s head.

 

Which was how Billy ended up naked, flat on his back in the narrow iron bed, with Goody above him, slick with oil, working himself down on his cock, inch by agonizing inch. And maybe the specifics of it, of just how and why they got here was a little blurry to Billy at the moment, but he wasn't about to complain.  For surely Goody had not looked at him as he had looked at Goody, snatching glances of his skin and hoarding them, feeling each little touch between them like a firebrand, only wanting closer, only wanting more. This sudden abundance felt like a mirage, like fairy-gold - snatched away come morning- and he was ravenous for it, desperate in a way which betrayed every emotion he’s ever had, his soft inappropriate feelings for Goody dragged out into the light, so that when this is finished he’ll never have it again.

 

His hands wouldn't stay still but had to touch every bit of Goodnight, from his feet and calves to the hard points of his hips, his chest, back and ass, everything, everything. Goody rode him like he would a bucking horse, head thrown back and panting in pleasure, Billy couldn’t get enough of looking at him, of feeling him, hot and slick, the pleasure washing over him, and he tried to thrust harder, bury himself in Goody until there is nothing left, his hands greedy and grasping. He tried to stave off his release for as long as he could, but it’s too much and he spilled into Goody with an inarticulate cry, torn between the rush and the overwhelming sorrow that its lost now, it’s over now.

 

It wasn’t quite over though, and he managed to get one hand on Goody’s cock, working him until he keened and came, thick and white over Billy’s hands and then slumped down over him, foreheads resting together.

 

They separated slowly while Goody’s breathing evened out, he was uncharacteristically quiet, like Billy had fucked all the words out of him and now Goody was nothing but a droopy, affectionate mess. He wound his arms around Billy and snuggled closer, tucking his sweaty head under his chin.

 

“You gon’ sleep?” Billy asked, half asleep himself, yet struggling to stay awake, to extend the moment a little longer.

“Nah, just rest my eyes a tick,” Goodnight answered. “Get you a washcloth ina minute,” he more or less slurred, voice thick and sleepy. Billy caught his face in his hands and brought it up to kiss him, licking deep into his mouth until his jaw ached, wondered if it would be possible to fall asleep like this, wet and messy together, his tongue inside Goody’s mouth. Goodnight pulled away and Billy could barely keep the murmur of stay, stay, behind his teeth but as it turned out he didn't have to because Goody settled down with his head on his shoulder and they were asleep before Billy could as much as blink.

 

He woke up a little to the cold sensation of a washcloth and Goody’s murmured: “Let's get you cleaned up, eh beautiful?” And he sleepily, jealously, wondered who Goodnight would address with that much affection and then he was asleep again, like a blanket over his head.

 

When he woke up the sun was shining and Goodnight was still in the bed. Billy was sleeping on the side, having scooted as far away as the narrow mattress would allow, even the night being too hot to be close. In the early sun Goody’s hair seemed nearly gold and his face with its sharp cheekbones was turned down into the pillow. Billy couldn’t help stare at him, misery sharp as a fist around his heart. Goody blinked and yawned.

“‘S gonna be hotter than Satan’s asshole today,” he grumbled, not lifting his head from the pillow. “What you say to taking the horses down into the river canyon, before it gets too hot? We’re bound to find _some_ place with shade and a foot of water left.”

It really wasn’t what Billy had expected. Riding down into the canyon was something they often did, sleeping the worst of the heat away, and keeping their horses cool. If anything he had thought Goody would get out of the bed and then be gone the whole day, not returning until evening when they could pretend it had never happened. Not riding out together down to the river, where Billy more often than not had a swim, if they could find anywhere deep enough.

“It’s a good idea,” he said cautiously and Goody smiled, his eyes still closed.

“If I get coffee and food, you get the horses ready?” the smile soft and sly.

“You’re just lazy,” Billy tried, he might be head over heels but he wasn’t a sap, and Goodnight laughed.

“That’s true, but Susannah does like me better, besides you’d be lazy too if you had the night I’ve had,” he winked and Billy gaped as Goody got out of the bed, got out of it by clambering over Billy so he was half straddling him, one leg in the bed and the other on the floor. Billy was just staring at him dumbstruck when Goody dipped down and kissed him.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asked when Goody lifted his head, his voice wobbling and Goody smiled, sweet and slow like molasses.

“Billy, I’ve just suggested we’d spend the day in complete seclusion in an environment where you have previously shown a propensity for ungodly nakedness, what do you think we will be getting up to?”

 

He smirked and left, Billy staring after his naked ass and  feeling like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Well, he supposed he could work with that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> In the United States in 19th and 205thC a type of erotic images, small postcard-sized images on cardstock was colloquially known as French Postcards.
> 
> The photographs here were taken using the collodion process, the height of modernity at the time. Doucet is really being very modern. At this time Daguerreotype would have been more commercially common but I imagine that young Louisiana enthusiasts with more money than sense would go for the collodion process with a shorter development time. I also believe a young Goody would be the kind of mix of gullible and slutty to fall for the line, I need naked photographs of you, for, uh, science.
> 
> I 100% believe that Goodnight got really drunk and wrote that dirty letter to Billy himself.
> 
> Come scream at me at hellolittleogre.tumblr.com


End file.
